Okay, the reason I didn't post during the fight was because how do you respond to asking a character a question, and then having said character teleport into a battle? And to top it off, that character magically fixed his mech, which my character was helping to fix? How does one even describe what happened in that scenario?

[color=#ffffff;]#totallynottalkingaboutcyrista[/color]

[color=#000000;]IC: Jack Storm[/color]

[color=#000000;]Jack started to walk around the base of Exo-Force, looking for Cyrista. Cyrista had never told Jack how he had become a cyborg, running off into the battle. Jack's mech had been pretty badly busted in an earlier fight, so he had to fix it before he could go into battle.[/color]

[color=#000000;]But Jack couldn't find the cyborg anywhere, as if he had vanished. He was gone.[/color]

Wil grabbed the bolt driver and handed it to the man. "Right, sorry," he said, "my name is Wil. "And yeah, this is my first week here. But if you need help with... Enforcer did you call it? I'd be glad to risk my head and lend a hand if you need. I wouldn't come all the way out here if I was afraid of falling armor panels. As for help with electrocution.... I tend to wire things into a tangled mess so I might be able to help with that as well." He stuck out his hand, hoping they would shake it. "It's nice you meet you three."

[font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]A harsh white light shone down on the operating table. It was a slab of grey-black steel, a tiny sliver of white padding on top of it to prevent the patient from hurting themselves. Not that they could thrash around much- their ankles and wrists were bound to the table with heavy iron shackles. They themselves were sedated as well. The patient rested calmly on their back, naked, their chest rising and falling rhythmically. They looked as if they were carved from marble, a stone statue, pristine and perfect.[/font]

[font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]Positioned above them threateningly was an array of sharp threatening instruments, drills and knives and tools that resembled a tangle of razor sharp wire, all attached to skeletal robot arms, hanging like some grisly chandelier above the cool human body.[/font]

[font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]Around the two objects, the human and the tools, which balanced perfectly motionless - opposite, twin halves, one sharp and artificial and threatening, the other perfect and weak and entirely natural – there stretched an unseen expanse of a silver, clean geometric plane. The corners of the room were unseen, hidden in darkness. Nothing existed in this space but those two objects, bathed in the white spotlight, the chandelier of operating tools and the human who was to be operated upon.[/font]

[font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]And me. I, the controller, half the intellect behind this scheme, the purveyor, the being who’s mind and actions had shaped the scene in front of me, who was in total control of this small world of tools and flesh.[/font]

[font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]With the swift, precise ferocity of a scorpion stinging, four knives descended and opened clean cuts in the human’s chest. They were all perfect, organized, and symmetrical. Four thin red lines had appeared where they had not been before. Then four arms, each tipped with a kind of metal, segmented oval. The tiny things, appearing to look like speared beetles, crossed the gulf between the subject and the tools, sliding into the human’s body. I tapped another button, releasing the robotic insects and letting their tiny legs fuse and tap into the subject’s nervous system. Each of these devices was positioned at a major nerve cluster, already gathering information about the signals the human’s brain was sending to their body.[/font]

[font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]Then came the real part, the most important part of the operation. With a quiet tap from my remote, the cushion supporting the human’s upper body was pushed upwards by a webbing of machinery, setting them into a sitting position.[/font]

[font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]Another tap, and the metal arms bearing tools positioned itself around the human’s head, each arm offered up a different angle of entry to their brain. The tools spun jerkily, and two blades made twin incisions on either side of the patient’s spinal cord, in that part of the body that was neither head nor neck, that small place in between. The metal spider of tools spun again, and two more arms, each armed with a tangle of cords that were starting to lazily writhe, like snakes caught sunbathing, were set just above the twin incisions. They slipped cleanly into the person’s head, whose body quivered a bit, trying to sluggishly react at the unwanted violation of their mind.[/font]

[font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]I clicked a button, and the unseen cords went to work, crawling about in the space between the human’s mind and their skull, sliding into the cracks and crevices in their brain, the greatest computer of all.[/font]

[font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]I clicked another button, imagining the neuron signals of the human mind being intercepted by this intrusion which immediately began filtering the electric signals, sending alien signals of it’s own through the neural network, telling the mind to do things that it never could have before. Then the two arms, now holding no tools at all, retracted, their work done, the cords placed permanently in the person’s mind, and the tool rack spun again. This time, two laser emitters were positioned at the site of the incision.[/font]

[font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]With sound imitating the buzz of a locust’s wings, the beams switched on, sealing shut the twin cuts with robotic precision. Another spin of the rack of tools, and two more arms lovingly applied two cloth patches to facilitate rapid healing of the location. In a couple days, there would be no sign that there ever were two cuts in the person’s neck.[/font]

[font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]The process was repeated with the locations of neural censors in their chest, and then slowly, spinning slowly and relaxing, the arms bearing their advanced tools rose away from the violated human body, leaving barely any sign of their sinister work.[/font]

[font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]A hum signaled the powering down of the operating machine, and I stepped out of the shadows towards the body. Another tap on my remote revealed a faintly pulsing web, a map of the person’s mind. And more importantly, a series of buttons that allowed me near complete control over it.[/font]

[font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]If I were not forged from metal and circuits, I would have smiled. Here it was. A human being, sleeping, waiting to be woken so their could serve our cause. A traitor against their will.[/font]

[font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]I waited, patient, for a half hour while the drugs wore off, leaving the patient rendered unconscious merely by the foreign object in their own head. I stood sigil over the pristine motionless figure as I waited for them to awaken.[/font]

[font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]When it was finally time, I tapped on the remote, and the person opened their eyes, blinked confusedly. They stared with puzzlement at the healing bandages attached to their chest, and felt curiously the same ones at the back of their head. They groaned slightly as they pulled their body into a sitting position, then turned their head and looked at me.[/font]

[font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]For a second their expression was fear, but then the artificial part of their mind took over, and they merely looked calm. At peace. Enlightened. The faint half-smile on their face was that a person who had figured out how the world works, and was to suffer no more surprises and unpleasant realizations.[/font]

[font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]The human stretched and stood, and looked at me with their knowing expression. “Wow.” They said, with the same sort of calm inflection you might expect from a pedestrian commenting on the weather. “I feel so… refreshed. Like everything suddenly makes sense, you know?”[/font]

[font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]I nodded. “I am so immensely pleased to see that the procedure worked perfectly.”[/font]

[font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]“Not as much as I am,” the person said with a smile. “I’d hate to be brain dead and useless to our cause.”[/font]

[font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]“So you do believe that we robots deserve dominion over the humans and this mountain.”[/font]

[font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]“Oh, absolutely,” the human said with a bit of a snort. “Of course!”[/font]

[font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]“And you will do everything in your power to make sure that happens.”[/font]

[font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]“Obviously, master. What else is there to do?”[/font]

[font="'trebuchet ms', helvetica, sans-serif;"]If I were a human like him, I would be jumping for joy. Instead, I felt a kind of mild enthusiasm glowing somewhere inside my metal chest. I had never been more excited. “Then come with me. There is much to be done,” I beckoned him.[/font]

OOC: As someone who's read anatomy, the concept of a place "between neck and head" would refer to the upper cervical area of the spinal column. There are bones there, and the skull rests on two small points. You would want to access not right there, but on either side, where the actual opening is, where the flesh fills in. This is slightly behind the ears (which would probably damage the hearing of the subject). Also: scars take time to break down from healing. If the patient is on a scar therapy treatment of rigorous cross-fiber palpation and rubbing, the tissue will break down until about the size of a hair, but this takes time. Just wanted to toss those realism pieces out there. If you use them, cool, if not, whatever.

The alarm blinked softly, gently vibrating in my elbow. My bicep tightened automatically, eyes opening to my new world. Rolling over, I let the covers slip away as my feet touched the ground. I had yet to stand, simply experiencing the cold linoleum sapping the heat from my feet. A pair of plastic flip flops waited patiently as my toes wriggled under the straps, the foam creating a welcome barrier from the chill. With a glance to my new arm I located the small notifications button. It blinked once as I placed my finger on it, and the small screen flipped out of the interior.

My lips pursed as I checked the contents, half-squinting without realizing it. The first was notifying of my revoked Pilot's License, Mechanist Class for breaking protocol in the field of duty. I sucked my upper lip and selected it for deletion, feeling a small amount of pleasure as it was erased, less data to keep me awake at night. The next was my new position assignment: Communications. I blinked, wondering what I was supposed to do there, but scrolling on the touch screen quickly explained the logic. I was a pilot, I knew the pilot's by more than name. Communications needed someone like me on the line giving them accurate data during battles.

"Well, alright," I consented to the second message, leaving it in the RAM for finding my job later. Returning back to the inbox, I opened the third and quickly broke a smile. "Well, that devil..."

Technology temporarily sedated, I turned my attention to the room around me. A frosted glass partition separated the treatment area and a tiny waiting area. A uniform hung on the coat rack. I expected the bed to squeak as I stood up, but the hospital appliance refused to talk. Right, it's not a dorm mattress,I thought then flip-flopped my way across the room, pulling off the already revealing hospital gown. I was nude, but who cared? It's not like there was anyone actually here besides me.

The uniform was a brilliant white, like the snow on the top of Sentai Mountain. A single orange circuitry pattern ran down the right sleeve, Communications' emblem patched over the breast on the mechanist-patterned jacket. I stared at the outfit as I laid it out on the bed. There was a new job, a new life, and a whole host of new people I'd never met before waiting to see me in the constricting uniform. Grabbing the white T-shirt, I slipped it on and began my metamorphosis.

OOC: If someone wants to claim the third message sent as from their character, go right ahead.

OOC: It is also worth noting, Kughii, that you're forgetting something important; This is a setting that has successfully harnessed lasers, created fully intelligent, even sentient, AI, and created gigantic battle machines. It is entirely feasible that they would have medical technology more advanced than what we have, and considering the nature of scars, it's possible that they would have ways to eliminate their presence. Plus, you're trying to inject medical realism into a post that has shown technology just barely shy of nanotechnology. It isn't really applicable. And as someone who has read about, and worked on, computers, I can say that emails are not stored in RAM. [color=#ffffff;]This is the part where someone says "Touche".[/color]

@Hubert: It wasn't supposed to make sense. It's not like most things Alistair says do, now do they? :pIC:

The pilot stared at Wil and the outstretched hand, cocking his head ever so slightly, and taking a sip of his coffee. His gaze was piercing, unsettling so, as he examined the newest mechanic. He made no move to shake his hand, instead examining him at his own leisure. Finally, he pulled himself back up, setting the bolt driver to work inside the crevice in the Enforcer's armor. Just when it seemed he wasn't going to reply, his voice floated back out. "The Ghastly Cutie wasn't an "it". The Kazebushi wasn't an "it." His tone wasn't cheerful, but it wasn't stern either. "Nor is the Spiral Enforcer. These machines aren't "it"s. Each one is different, with their own quirks and tendencies. They're not just inanimate objects, things to be replaced at a whim. They're extensions of the pilot's will, something to be treated with respect.""When you think of one as an "it", it dehumanizes it. You cease to care whether or not it comes out of each battle unscathed, as long as you do. That's reckless, and it costs us far too much. It was something Sakajima should have remembered. If you treat your machine as an object, it will fail you when you need it. And after a while, after it has pulled you through dozens of battle intact, and you've had to repair it after each one, you'll understand. They're objects, there's no doubt of that. But give it a month, and you won't see them the same way."

0

On this eve, the thirtieth anniversary of that first colony, many are left to wonder; is the world fast approaching a breaking point?

[color=#0000cd;]"...when you're the only person around, the only real gun safety rule you remember is "Don't aim it at yourself"."[/color]

[color=#008000;]"Oh."[/color]

[color=#008000;]My face completely deadpan, I pulled out the gun and held it out until I had a nice bead drawn on my right temple.[/color]

[color=#008000;]"So, not like this, then?"[/color]

[color=#008000;]Silence.[/color]

[color=#008000;]"Good to know!"[/color]

[color=#008000;]I mimicked Abe's last movement, flipping the weapon over so that I was holding it out to him by the barrel.[/color]

[color=#008000;]"Don't worry about anything, Abe!" I said my old chirpiness reemerging, "I trust you not to do anything crazy or dangerous or... y'know, stuff that would risk the safety of people... and leave them capable of still suing."[/color]

Wil retracted his hand and clenched it an an awkward fist. "I didn't mean to offend you... or her," he said with some embarrassment. "That's certainly an interesting way of looking at it. At this point it's hard for me to think about them as anything other than those inanimate machines that are supposed to get me through a battle alive... but maybe that's because I haven't been in those battles yet. It's just been simulations and practice for me. But you're clearly busy and don't want to hear about that. So thanks for the brief lecture, and I suppose we'll be seeing each other around? I look forward to working with, and learning from, you." With a tip of his hat (...why did I do that? Man, that felt dorky), he started to walk off.

IC:"Oi, kid."Alistair paused, poking his head out of the crevice he was wedged into, eye bright with an unknown sentiment. It wasn't something to be noted by Wil himself, but to those around him, it was clear something was amiss. Alistair was never this serious, and certainly not this serious for so long."Watch out for the mistakes your predecessor made, and you'll do fine."

[color=#0000cd;]IC:[/color]

[color=#0000cd;]For the brief moment that Gwen was aiming the gun at her own temple, all was still. The cheer slipped away from Abraham's face, and his muscles instantly coiled beneath his coat like a spring about to release. But the moment came and went in an instant, and with it, his usual demeanor returned. Without taking another glance at it, he took back the weapon and holstered it."Thank you, ma'am."[/color]

0

On this eve, the thirtieth anniversary of that first colony, many are left to wonder; is the world fast approaching a breaking point?

Wil waved back at the man, acknowledging that he received the tip. But he had no idea what it meant. Don't make the mistakes that his predecessor made? He mentioned someone named Sakajima did something wrong, so maybe that was who he was referring to. Wil made a mental note to check records to see what exactly happened to this person.

In the meantime, he walked over to this machine. Viking. Since the thing hadn't seen battle the green paint was perfect applied. Too bad it wouldn't stay that way. He spent the next few minutes checking all the connections and making sure nothing was lose. He found nothing. That didn't surprise him, after the most activity the machine saw was Wil giving it a once-around on a track. "But that's going to change soon... 'girl'," he said with a smile, and sarcastically patted it like a pet. He never understood people who personified inanimate vehicles, but maybe that would come to change. Before leaving, Wil took off his hat and threw it in the machine. He didn't need it inside and didn't want to forget it when he eventually had to go into the field.

He walked towards the exit of the hanger. Time to do some light research.

Name: Samson BellGender: MaleAge: 34Species: HumanAppearance: A stern looking fellow, skin rough and leathery, numerous white scars running across his body like curious caterpillars, eyes hard and grey as steel...An accident when he was younger took off his eyebrows, leaving him looking permanently surprised, and enough of his hair that he just goes bald. As if trying to compensate for this he's let his dark crimson facial hair grow out into an impressive beard, though it really just creates the odd effect of making it appear he's got his head on upside downSkill(s): An ingenious engineer, brilliant and crafting and fixing anything electricalPersonality: A bluff, gruff, grumbly chap. He'll expect you to get right to the point when talking to him and will do likewise when addressing you. Weirdly though, the same does not apply to machines he's fixing up, which he coos and chats to like a collection of family pets. After taking what he had hoped to be a break in one of the villages, fixing small stuff like combine harvesters rather than huge and complex battle machines, he was unfortunately taken captive and experimented upon, his usual mind-set being overridden by loyalty to the robots. He is now one of their fifth columnists within the human fortificationsWeakness(es): Lack of skill and various injuries mean he's not a battle-capable pilotMech:Designation: Helping HansType: Red WalkerEquipment: High intensity welding torch [left arm], pneumatic rivet gun with sonic upgrade [right arm]Appearance: A plain suit of the simplest exo-skeleton you could imagine, plates of metal with tools, pistons and tubing strapped to them, all of it just barely wrapped around around a human to boost their strength and let them use a greater range of tools.Notes:

OOC: It has been a while since I posted here. I feel like starting with new characters, and make the old ones die back in the battle. Though I don't know if that might be the right thing. But first, is there anything going on right now like a mission?

OOC: It has been a while since I posted here. I feel like starting with new characters, and make the old ones die back in the battle. Though I don't know if that might be the right thing. But first, is there anything going on right now like a mission?

Not particularly, unless you're on the robot's side. The humans are currently recovering from a very large scale battle that just took place. However, a smaller village further down the mountain was burnt down by a small robot strike force, and nobody has seemed to notice that yet. It might be a fun thing to investigate.

If you want a fresh slate of characters, go for it. You don't even necessarily need to kill of your old ones- many people just let them disappear mysteriously, and that allows you to bring them back later. Have fun in the RPG!

[color=#008000;]"No problem," I replied, my eyes tracing the gun back to Abraham's belt, and my fingers drumming against my thigh in nervous anticipation to dissect that thing, to spill its guts and to learn all the fascinating little secrets it was holding inside its fine iron bod. My heart seemed swollen with excitement -- the closest I -- or anyone else in EXO-FORCE, for that reason -- had gotten to seeing a real sidearm was in the darkness of our makeshift theatre, in the realms of our pre-rebellion collection of films.[/color]

[color=#008000;]Ages ago, a few other mechanics and I had rigged up a player for the stacks and stacks of movies collecting dust in our storage vaults, resulting in one of the most popular pass times in the whole base. Even the most gag-worthy were huge hits amongst us -- they were such nice distractions from the ever-present and invisible scythe hovering over each of our necks.[/color]

[color=#008000;]"But being as this is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world, and would blow your head clean off, you've got to ask yourself one question: 'Do I feel lucky?' Well, do ya, punk?"[/color]

[color=#008000;]Heh, classic.[/color]

[color=#008000;]But being as this is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world, and would blow your head clean off[/color]

[color=#008000;]the most powerful handgun in the world, and would blow your head clean off[/color]

[color=#008000;]and would blow your head clean off[/color]

[color=#008000;]My features screwed themselves up into a look of contemplation as the finger-gun of my right hand rose to my temple.[/color]

[color=#008000;]Penny-dropping to commence in three, two--[/color]

[color=#008000;]"Abe, did I just point a gun at my head?"[/color]

[color=#008000;]No, wait, don't answer that. Stupid question -- of course I did. The finger-gun broke apart back into regular, run-of-the-mill fingers, two of which pinched the bridge of my nose in annoyance.[/color]

IC:"Yes, you did point a gun at your head. And I couldn't remember if the safety was on or not."There was a momentary pause as the pilot wiped several beads of sweat from his forehead. "Dear Lord it's hot up here."Without waiting for a response, he began unbuttoning his long coat, slipping out of it and folding it over his arm. Without the added bulk, something became immediately apparent; Abraham was lean. His uniform was half a size too large, made for someone with a bit more meat on them. He wasn't skinny, though just shy of it, but it was clear that he hadn't been eating much."Though I suppose to you lot this temperature seems normal."

0

On this eve, the thirtieth anniversary of that first colony, many are left to wonder; is the world fast approaching a breaking point?

[font="Georgia;color:rgb(158,111,0);"][font="'Palatino Linotype';"][font="arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"][color=rgb(0,0,0);]Gender: Male[/color][/font][/font][/font][font="Georgia;color:rgb(158,111,0);"][font="'Palatino Linotype';"][font="arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"][color=rgb(0,0,0);]Age: 23[/color][/font][/font][/font][font="Georgia;color:rgb(158,111,0);"][font="'Palatino Linotype';"][font="arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"][color=rgb(0,0,0);]Species: Human[/color][/font][/font][/font][font="Georgia;color:rgb(158,111,0);"][font="'Palatino Linotype';"][font="arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"][color=rgb(0,0,0);]Appearance: [/color][/font][/font][/font]http://ts2.mm.bing.n...&h=180&c=7&rs=1[font="Georgia;color:rgb(158,111,0);"][font="'Palatino Linotype';"][font="arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"][color=rgb(0,0,0);]Skill(s): Good at making repairs to any machine, and is a good investigator.[/color][/font][/font][/font][font="Georgia;color:rgb(158,111,0);"][font="'Palatino Linotype';"][font="arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"][color=rgb(0,0,0);]Personality: When it comes to combat, he still is a rookie. He tends to be clumsy in a battle situation, but if he wasn't in battle, he'll be fine and do the job done. He'd rather make repairs, than fight.[/color][/font][/font][/font][font="Georgia;color:rgb(158,111,0);"][font="'Palatino Linotype';"][font="arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"][color=rgb(0,0,0);]Weakness(es): Like in his personality, he's more of a repair man, than fighter. Which is why he's a terrible shooter. He avoids combat as much as possible.[/color][/font][/font][/font]

The guy didn't stop, so Roy just got closer. Personal space was just a myth, after all. He didn't really spend enough time at the base to know everyone's names. He thought this guy was Jack....Something.

Ic:Lau walked the hallways, making his way to the hangar. While he was going there, he saw Pilot Jack Strom, and Pilot Roy White behind him. He waved his hand and said, "Hey guys. How's it going. Anything new outside of base?"

Jack turned to face the others that had come up to him. He said to the one that said something, "Nothing much. There was a giant fight I missed. Also, do I know you? You look familiar, but I can't place where I know you from." Jack had seen the guy that had asked the question before, but the other guy that was walking next to him without saying anything he didn't recognize at all.

[font="'comic sans ms', cursive;"][color=rgb(0,100,0);]'Sleeeeppppp-wait is that-aw..more people to go through..'[/color][/font]

[font="'comic sans ms', cursive;"][color=rgb(0,0,0);]And indeed the teenager had run into yet another group of people, this one made up of all boys, looking as if they were discussing something. Not that she really cares, sleep is the main thing on her mind right now. [/color][/font]

[font="'comic sans ms', cursive;"][color=rgb(0,0,0);]Zyki quietly walks up behind one of them, (Roy), and taps him on the shoulder.[/color][/font]

[color=#008000;]With his coat draped over an arm, I mentally declared Abe the unchallenged master of all understatements in the world -- when it came to his diet, anyway. The guy was skinny the way that stripped-down robot carcasses were skinny. It was the way that a thrown-away pet would look after a few weeks on the street, or a boreal plant suddenly stuck in the desert, waiting for a sandy wind to pick it up. A vision blossomed in my mind of him being blown away by a stiff breeze; his limbs cartoonishly rigid against his body, spinning through the air like a pinwheel, with a nutcracker gape of surprise on his face.[/color]

[color=#008000;](stop that gwen that was mean okay then sorry)[/color]

[color=#008000;]Now, I was an engineer and not a doctor, so I probably wouldn't the first nor best authority when it comes to human health. But I was also a genius, so I figured that I had a pretty good shot at guessing.[/color]

[color=#008000;]"C'mon," I said, grabbing a handful of his shirt and dragging him along behind me, "If you think it's hot here, try down in the mess hall sometime. And when I make that joke, it should be noted that I am subtly hinting to you that that is where we're going and that any attempts to stop this trip on your part will be both futile and humiliating. Not to mention potentially crippling."[/color]

[font="verdana, geneva, sans-serif;"][color=rgb(128,0,128);]I turned at the sound of more footsteps echoing through the mostly empty hanger. The techies had yet to swarm the place to take our machines apart piece by piece and make sure nothing was scratched, so it made for a rather lonely area for the time being. There I spotted Gwen, who was pulling along some guy by the shirt. Of course, behind them was a rather strange looking machine that I recognized quite well.[/color][/font]

[font="verdana, geneva, sans-serif;"][color=rgb(128,0,128);]"Gwen try not to kill anyone this time," I called cheerfully, ducking under a slab of armor half-melted by a laser blast that came flying from the general direction of Alistair's battle machine.[/color][/font]

[color=#008000;]I glanced over to see who (today) was insinuiating that I had homicidal tendencies, and spotted Jack Frost bobbing and weaving through the hanger in my general direction, a devil-may-care grin on his face (as per the norm). I didn't stop walking/dragging Abe, but my stride slowed down and shortened to allow for a determined-enough someone to catch up with us.[/color]

[color=#008000;]"Oh Eli, and you would make such a lovely corpse," I called back, sorta-rolling my eyes.[/color]

For information, Wil was directed to the library which was in a conveniently located offshoot of the dorms. He got excited- a library here, of all places! But his excitement quickly faded when he arrived in the building. Where he expected shelves of books there were single desks with LCD screens- digital kiosks. I guess it was too much to expect that I'd be able to do a little light reading here.

Wil approached a desk in the corner, entered his ID number, and explored the home page to see what information the kiosk offered. He glanced at article titles like A Brief History of the Robot War, andWiring Techniques for Optimal Performance.There was a whole section devoted to images in the form of maps and robot schematics. And there was also a section devoted to staff members currently stationed at Sentai Fortress. Scrolling through names, he found the one was looking for: Sakajima. The information listed was pretty standard: name, contact information, position. Under 'position', he noticed that it read Pilot's License Revoked in deceptively plain black type. There was a link right below that where one could click to get more information, but when Wil tried it he was denied. Only higher seniority staff had access, which made sense. Really it was none of his business.

Without knowing what his predecessor's mistake was, Wil couldn't learn from him. He looked in a section that detailed the most recent skirmishes to see if he could gleam anything else. There a brief article on the battle Wil heard over the radio, but beyond the location, strength, and casualty numbers no specifics were given. Defeated, Wil shut off the database kiosk, thanked the desk clerk, and walked back to his room. Reviewing field tactics seemed like a good thing to do while it was quiet. Maybe later he'd take Viking out for another spin.

As he was walking back to his room, Wil came across another group of guys, as well as Miss Sleepyhead, who he 'met' earlier. Either she was failing in her quest to get some sleep (which Wil found amusing), or she always looked that way. Either way, it was as good a time as any to learn who's who around here, and he didn't want to go around mentally calling people by the silly nicknames he gave them.

"Hey guys! And hello again," he nodded to 'Miss Sleepyhead'. He stuck out his hand toward the guys since he didn't recognize any of them. "How's it going? My name's Wi, please to meet you."

With my new uniform uncomfortably tugging my shoulders back into proper posture I stiffly made my way down the empty corridor, each white door leading to a different treatment room. The medical floor was monochromatic: white seemed to be the favored color of doctors, save for the neon green exit signs at either end of the hall. Giving the door a trial push with my new arm, the handle bent with a metallic shudder. "Gonna have to work on that."

Up the stairwell, I wasn't about to stick myself in an elevator and risk getting spotted just yet, with the gray concrete cooling the air, I walked to the next floor of the fortress. Opening the door without breaking the handle, I stepped out into a far more vibrant hallway. The sound of shouting cooks rushing past filled my ears with nostalgia, the sharp knives hanging from magnets on the wall bringing a tear of joy to my face. I was back in the kitchen, even if only as my personal shortcut to the food line. Most of the pilots would be cleaning and refurbishing their mechs with the engineers, a quick glance at the time confirming my ideas. Hopefully I'd be alone, and free to eat in a quiet corner of the mess.

"One ramen please." My voice slipped out of the capable English accent I had developed when I mentioned my order. For some reason I was never able to completely rid my accent on words I'd learned in Nihongo as a babe. Nevertheless, the steaming bowl of noodles, pork, green onion, and an egg found their way from the lady's hands to my tray with the slightest slosh of broth. A swipe of my access card later, I was headed to the far side for the first meal in hours, the heat from the bowl passing through the tray and into my new arm.

[color=rgb(128,0,128);][font="verdana, geneva, sans-serif;"]I grinned wolfishly, sliding around the last bit of twisted metal to come within a reasonable conversational distance of the two. The techies could handle the Celeritas for now, there wasn't really much I could do to the battle machine anyway.[/color][/font]

[color=rgb(128,0,128);][font="verdana, geneva, sans-serif;"]"Heck yeah I would, shame not everyone can be graced with such an ability," I replied, "Though I'd much prefer it to not have an empty stomach when you or Alistair," I raised my voice a bit at the pilot's name, glancing in his general direction," manage to decapitate me with some random piece of machinery."[/color][/font]

IC:"Don't worry Mr. Freeze, if I decapitate you, it'll be intentional."************[color=#0000cd;]"Um, okay."Was Abraham's only response, as he was suddenly dragged forward by his shirt. There was no resistance, he followed at the same pace, he was just... confused."Why are people being decapitated?"[/color]

0

On this eve, the thirtieth anniversary of that first colony, many are left to wonder; is the world fast approaching a breaking point?

"Don't mind him," said Garry, the manly older man clapping a hand on Abraham's shoulder. "He is always like this."

IC: Holly Yuan ~ Cafeteria

"How have you been holding up?" asked Holly, the red-clad girl silently approaching from Sakajima's side. She and the other easterner had not exactly been close, but she worried about him all the same. Most people would, if they saw that a colleague of theirs had been struck down during battle. "No phantom pains or anything?"

Name: Sarah Taylor
Gender: Female
Age: 23 (developmental age)
Species: Android (Specifically designed to be human in every practical way. Looks, acts, and feels human. You cut her, she'll bleed, her skin and outward appearance are organic in nature.)
Appearance: A young woman with scarlet hair and dazzling green eyes. She's very attractive, somewhat tall, with a figure on the thin side.
Skill(s): Quicker reflexes and mental ability than a human, physically stronger as well. She's a very bright and intelligent individual, likes to think outside the box.
Personality: Sarah is very perky and bubbly, tries to get along with everyone. She enjoys company and dislikes being alone for long periods of time. On the battlefield however, she fights the robots with the ferocity of a beast.
Biography: Sarah has been at Sentai Mountain for as long as she's been old enough to pilot a mech, fighting the robots with the rest of humanity. Little does she know she's not exactly human herself, though there have been signs. For now though, everyone believes she's human, including herself.
Weakness(es): She can be reckless, will do anything to protect her friends, even if it means putting herself at great risk. She doesn't know she's not human, and if someone found out, it could be bad.

Mech:
Designation: Crimson Tiger
Type: Supernova
Equipment: Missle launchers mounted on each shoulder, standard Electro Trident in right hand, and double-barrle Laser cannon in the left. On the torso a high powered laser can be fired from the chest, which can do extreme amounts of damage at fairly long distances. Has a very long charging time however, and seriously drains power.
Appearance: Crimson in color